Poker Pair Week '09
by ShadowFaeyre
Summary: Filled with my horrible, completely idiotic offerings to the Poker Pair gods in honor of the week. :D TykixAllen


It's October 9th, people, and you know what that means! Yes, something even _better_ than eating Halloween candy 3 weeks early (I know it's hard to believe, but that can be second priority, 'kay?). It's Poker Pair Week, ladies and gentlemen, and yes, I'm already one day late! Procrastination is bad, kids, don't do it.

And, uhh, yeah, no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't come up with a title for this one. XD -shrug-

(Disclaimer): If I owned Tyki, I would be a very happy fangirl. Hell, just give me a few strands of his hair! (yes, I am obsessed, and no, I obviously don't own Tyki, therefore Allen and -Man in general is far beyond my reach. Thanks for bringing that up.)

*Warning* _Rated T_. Yaoi -TykixAllen style-, language, and fantastically awful attempts at humor. Ratings may vary with each chapter.

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**Poker Pair Week '09 - Day One: Homosexual Card Games **

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Cross Marian was a complete and utter bastard. He was unfair, cruel, irresponsible, and completely devoid of a conscience, and he alone was the reason 15-year-old Allen Walker sat at a rickety old wooden table, in the seediest and most run-down bar imaginable, among men more than twice his age playing, of all things, poker. So Allen could afford to eat. Because that slimy git of a guardian of his just blew all his money on liquor. And women, God forbid Cross Marian deny a woman a drink.

Allen sighed, blowing a few milky white strands of bang out of his eyes. There was nothing he could do about it, so he'd probably be better off not stressing over anything and just play his hand; it all worked out fine, in the end. Only to start right back up again.

"Call."

He ignored the disgruntled curses and threats around him and began to rake his small mountain of winnings over to his side of the table, keeping a sharp eye, as best as he could through the thick haze of cigarrette and pipe smoke, on the competition to prevent anyone sneaking away anything that was rightfully his. Really, this was no way to live. Boys his age were supposed to go to school and learn _honest_, _hardworking_ trades. They were supposed to go home and do chores, and play outside with their age-mates; not cheat old, mean drunkards out of what remained of their meager life savings.

_'I wonder if Bookman and Lavi would mind if I traveled with _them _instead.'_ He thought. At least _they_ didn't have to mooch off anyone or cheat people; their work was fairly decent and respectable. And maybe he might have a knack for it. He liked to learn new things, and travel to foreign places, and he could keep secrets well enough. People seemed to trust him easilly, and liked his polite honesty. And he really didn't think neither Lavi or Bookman would find him troublesome; after meeting several times in their respective travels, he and Lavi had managed to form a pretty steady friendship.

Speaking of, he wondered where the young Bookman Apprentice had run off to. They had entered the pub together -Lavi to probe for information, Allen to earn dinner-, yet there wasn't a speck of red, flaming hair to be found at the dusty bar scene. Then again, when Lavi had the opportunity to learn something new or interesting, he often forgot most other things that weren't immediately important. Like Allen, apparently.

_'Well, there's no sense in staying here. Lavi can take care of himself.' _He did feel bad about leaving the other, as was his nature, but this could be considered payback for all the times Lavi had left him stranded over the years. So up he got, kindly declining the local alchoholics request for a rematch, and shoveled his hard-earned winnings into a small brown sack. He himself was looking forward to a nice dinner up in the small room he and his master shared at the humble, local inn.

_'Mmm, pot roast, and potatoes, and bread!' _he thought dreamily, not _quite_ drooling. He hadn't eaten in a fair few hours, and that had only consisted of a small pot pie. His poor, deprived stomach.

In his food-induced euphoria, he accidentally bumped into a patron entering the bar, losing his grip on the bag with his meal ticket. He stumbled, as the other guy was a fair foot or two taller and filled out with muscle, and raised his hands up, palms out, in front of him.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" _'Please don't hit me, please don't hit me, please-'_ It wouldn't be the first -or last- time it would happen.

But the stranger grinned and stooped to grab Allen's dropped bag; he handed it back. "No problem. But I really don't think good little boys like you should be around a place like this."

_'Yeah, then what's that girl over there behind you doing? This is the_ last _place a_ girl _should be, and she's gotta be younger than me!'_ he thought grumpilly. It seemed they were together; or knew each other, anyway. He raked his eyes over the tall man in scrutiny. He estimated him to be somewhere in his early to mid-twenties, and definately of the working class. His long-sleeved shirt and trousers were covered in a thin veil of dust and dirt, and he wore thick, heavy work boots. Dark curls hung tangled and wild, framing his face, and his eyes were concealed behind a pair of thick, goofy looking coke-bottle glasses. In short, he looked out of place beside the young girl in her neat skirt and high-platformed shoes. Or, maybe _she _was the one out of place, since she was, after all in a_ bar._

"I just had some business to take care of, sir, and was just leaving, so..."

The man raised his eyebrows in faint suprise. "My, one as young as you working as a prostitute? Well, I can't say you aren't pretty enough." His companion laughed.

Allen felt a vein in his temple throb violently, and he did his aboslute best to contain his temper. _'A _prostitute_? I look_ nothing like _a prostitute! That girl hanging around _him _looks more like a prostitute than_ I _do, with her short skirt and tall shoes!'_

But no, that was rude of him to think so, and he took a deep, calming breath. He forced a smile. "No sir, just playing a few hands of cards, is all. I had best be going now, if you don't mind."

The stranger didn't seem to take the hint. In fact, he seemed amused. "Oh, so you think you play cards pretty well, eh boy? You mind playing me a hand?"

_'If I do, will you let me _leave_?'_ Really, he didn't want to be so rude, but he was _starving_, dammit! He didn't come here just to entertain a bunch of drunks! "Mm, maybe. But just one."

Together, the group of three wandered to an empty table, and Allen took a seat across the elder, dropping his bag at his feet. From the other side of the table, his opponent had fished a deck of black and white checkered playing cards from his pocket, and proceeded to shuffle them with the casual air of a pro.

"What are the stakes?" Allen asked warily. Just by the look of him, the British was getting the impression that this guy had some skill. Sure, he looked as if he'd just rolled out of a potato sack from the back of a wagon, but he was also the first person yet in this damn pub who'd challenged him sober. Or, he _thought_ the guy was sober. He wasn't drunk off his ass, anyway. And if he was, he was very good at hiding it, which could mean that he might be one of those odd people who somehow managed to be better at everything he did while completely sloshed. Huh, then more power to him.

Mr. Potato Sack grinned. "I ain't got much, but if you win, I'll hand over every stitch on my body and jog around the town naked." Allen choked on his intake of air at this delirious, _insane _proposition.

"And if I win, boy, you have to play a 'penalty game'." The young girl beside him unleashed a mischievous giggle, and the scruffy vagabond smirked. Two pairs of eyes, one set gold, the other dark, bore into his own fair ones, as if challenging him, rating him on some unknown scale.

"Alright then," he replied levelly, "that's fine with me."

Scruffy man peered at Allen over the rims of his thick glasses; his entire being resonated amusement. "Excellent." He extended a dusty hand cordially. "Tyki Mikk."

Allen accepted the outstretched appendage politely, nodding in recognition. "Allen Walker."

Tyki glanced at him over the rim of his glasses, eyes clouded in amusement, and he swiftly began dealing the cards, handing them both seven cards each. The remainder of the deck he settled in the center of the table.

"Um..." stumped, Allen looked down at his hand. Was this guy an idiot? "What are you doing?"

"Got any threes?"

The young British faltered. "E-excuse me?"

"I said, 'got any threes?'" Tyki repeated easilly.

"Uh, I don't think I..."

His opponent cracked a wide, toothy grin. "It's a simple question, boy. Yes, or no?"

"No, I- ....." Allen gave up. "I'm sorry, sir, but I really don't know what the heck you're playing."

Tyki smiled pleasantly, resting his arms against the sturdy wood of the battered table. "Go Fish."

The teenager blinked. Once, twice. ".... Go Fish?" he repeated incredulously.

From beside the scruffy traveler, the petite dark-skinned girl raised an eyebrow. "_'Go Fish'_? That's so _gay_!"

Tyki looked unfazed, inhaling a puff of smoke. "I'd feel guilty playing poker against a kid, so I think I'll bring myself down to his level."

Allen's eyes flashed dangerously. _'Oh no he _didn't_.'_

"If it's as you say," he began sweetly, wearing the most innocent of smiles, "then could you please go easy on me? Since you're playing _'against a kid' _and all."

The other smirked, yet his tone remained lighthearted and pleasant, "Of course there, honey. I'll be as easy and gentle as you want." His companion cackled.

Allen blinked slowly, a light blush dusting his cheeks. Why did that sound so.... _gay_?

He shook himself mentally and fell into concentration. In actuality, he'd never played Go Fish much before, since Cross hadn't yet found a way to earn a lot of money playing it -really, who'd bet on _that_? then again, if someone's drunk enough...-, nor a solid cheating method. But that didn't mean he couldn't play it, dammit. And, now that he reflected on it, his virtue was possibly at stake.

_'Oh shit.'_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next thirty minutes or so was spent in relative silence, and Allen felt he had never focused so intently on a game of cards in his life. It was so _easy_ with poker. That was his element, his comfort zone, since he had yet to find someone -even other cheaters- who could beat him at it. But Go Fish.... he didn't really like this feeling, leaving his immediate future up to chance. It was a new experience for him. And it was incredibly stupid how nervous and high-strung he was over this, yet with every card he relenquished to the Portuguese, he felt a little piece of his spirit go with it.

It was absolutely nerve-wracking.

To his relief -and dread-, their hand came to an end, with Tyki gaining a new pair of sixes. They both nodded and began to cound their pairs, and Allen counted them twice over just to be certain there wasn't a possibility that a single card had been left behind.

"8 pairs!" he breathed a sigh of relief; eight wasn't so bad.... unless Tyki had nine.

Tyki's cigarette drooped out of his mouth in disappointment, "So you have." He laid out his own stock of cards: six pairs.

"Well, it was good game, boy, but I must be off." he gave a little wave of his hand and got to his feet, shoveling his deck into his pocket while trying his damn best not to appear anxious, but Allen could easily figure him out.

"Excuse me _sir,_" he said pleasantly, catching Tyki mid-step. "correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you have a debt to uphold?"

Sweating bullets, the elder swiveled around. Sure, this kid was adorable and polite, but his tone alone was that of a demon; he had no doubt the boy would be able to find some way to get him to pay up. It wasn't so much the naked part than it was jogging around outside; it was cold outside. Like 'I exhale, and the frozen remnants of my used oxygen freezes to my lips' cold. Okay, not really, but it was still cold.

Oh well, if he _had_ to do it, he might as well have a little fun.

Lips tugging upward, Tyki gazed at the British youth with smoldering, lust-clouded eyes and began to undress, keeping eye contact the entire time. Allen went to extreme pains to school himself to the expected expression of smugness, the tell-tale face of a victor, and not blush. Despite his first appearance, Tyki really had one hell of a body under all those clothes. Strong arms, laced with the muscle of one accustomed to heavy labor, and a well-chiseled abdomen quickly became eyecandy to Allen and any woman within a 30-foot radius. The Portuguese left his discarded garment in a heap at Allen's feet, and slid his arms out from under the thin straps of is suspenders, making to shuck his pants. He smirked, watching as Allen's wide eyes took him in, lowering down his body while Tyki's pants and boxers fell to the ground. The British turned completely red and hastilly looked away.

Tyki couldn't help but feel extremely pleased with himself. Hey, he might as well use this to his benifit. "You know, boy, just because I lost doesn't mean this can't be a win-win situation after all." Escape from freezing his dick off, _and_ getting laid. Sounded like a plan.

But Allen, pointedly keeping focused on Tyki's face, cooed mockingly, "If you want to make it home before dawn, you'd better get started."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Lavi was waiting for him, perched upon the end of his bed, when he returned to his room. The redhead looked up cheerily upon his arrival from a thick novel in his lap, and patted the space beside him.

"I see you can afford dinner."

"I see you finally remembered about me." Allen replied in the same vein, settling his plate of food on his lap as he sat down. His voice contained no trace of malice whatsoever.

"Touche'. You know," he began innocently, "I heard that some handsome, scruffy stranger challenged a little kid -or was it an old man?- to a game of Go Fish."

Trust Lavi to hear all the latest -just happened 5 minutes ago latest- gossip. "You don't say." Allen replied lightly, taking a bite of potato. The bed creaked as Lavi leaned closer, resting his chin in his palm.

"So," the bookman asked casually, an impish grin splitting his face, "did you catch a big one?"

Allen choked slightly, and punched his laughing friend in the shoulder, his face burning a bright red at the insinuation. Lavi could be so immature at times. But he couldn't deny to himself that Tyki Mikk was absolutely gorgeo- he froze in mid-thought, slapping himself mentally.

Why did everything coming out of everyone's mouth today sound so gay?

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And thus concludes my first ever Poker Pair fic. TAT (_tadaa! _-sparkle, sparkle-) So some sort of feedback'd be appreciated; like, I dunno, a review -hint, hint-, or a turkey sandwich (no mustard, please) or something'd be fine. :D

*Remember, it's not too late to join in on the Poker Pair madness! Even if you just do only one of the prompts, or it's a day or two behind (-cough- likeme -cough-), or ahead, or... whatever! Feel free to jump in. :3


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